Candlelight, Interrupted
by bookstvnerdlove
Summary: Post Finale, except we're pretending that the whole Marian business either didn't happen or has already been resolved. Because I don't want to include OQ angst, or Regina/Emma tension. With a storm brewing, Hook and Emma find themselves trapped at Granny's with the power out. How will they pass the time?
1. Candlelight, Interrupted

**Candlelight, Interrupted**

**Disclaimer: own nothing, abc and adam/eddy, your characters give me life.**

_A/N: Post Finale, except we're pretending that the whole Marian business either didn't happen or has already been resolved. Because I don't want to include OQ angst, or Regina/Emma tension. Also, I started writing this before the finale aired, and I don't feel like changing it because reasons. Originally conceived for the CS Trope-a-Thon, but adult life got in the way. _

The storm is right on top of them, lightening flashing and thunder booming almost immediately afterwards. After several minutes of the lights flickering in her room at Granny's, the power completely fails and she groans as she digs around her luggage for a flashlight. All at once, there are 30 messages on her phone from various Storybrooke residents and all she wants to do is call David to give the sheriff's position back to him.

Two of the texts make her smile, though. Henry is staying the night with Regina and Robin over at her house and he sent her a photo of the a pillow fort he built for Roland. Regina also sent a message to her saying that all was well at their house and that she had already called the power company and to just sit tight. It makes Emma smile to think of how seamlessly this joint parenting feels, especially after how rocky it was at the beginning.

She starts making her way through the rest of the messages, ensuring that everybody else is safe and sound before she can relax, when there is a banging at her door, and a bellowing, "Swan!"

She rolls her eyes, even though he isn't in the room to see her, because the idiot keeps forgetting to bring his key when he wanders down to Granny's kitchen in the middle of the night. (Which reminds her, she needs to leave the woman a little extra money in the morning to cover whatever snack he's found for himself tonight.)

With Henry at Regina's for the week, and her new apartment ready for move-in on Monday, they consolidated to one room. (She ignores the knowing looks from Granny and the winks from Ruby. And she gives them enough money so that they don't tell David or Mary Margaret. _Mom and Dad_.)

She pulls the door open and his eyes are frantic as he stalks into her (their) room. "What the bloody hell is going on here? Why is everything dark?"

She can hear the confusion in his voice, and she remembers that as adaptable as he is, he may never have questioned how, exactly, the lights in her world actually work.

"The power is out. No lights for a while," she says as she shines the flashlight in his direction, "We need to find more of these. Or some candles. I bet Granny has some lying around here."

She starts digging around the room until she finds a box labeled "Emergency" in the closet. Sure enough, there are some candles and matches in the box and soon the room is engulfed in a dim, glowing, amber light.

He likes to watch Emma while she works, walking around the room, placing candles where they will be most effective, typing words into her phone. (She recently showed him how the phone works, sending and receiving missives from friends, family, townspeople. He's yet to try to use it though. He finds all of the comforts of this realm endlessly fascinating, as fascinating as he finds Emma's capable movements and economy of words, speaking with her glances and touches, her actions and her smiles.)

He knows that he might come across (to some) lazy and unhelpful, but he can't help how he gets caught up in the simple pleasure of enjoying her. _Emma_.

When her tasks are finally complete, she joins him on the bed and surveys the room. Her boots next to his on the floor, his jacket draped on the chair, covering hers. She sighs softly as his arm pulls her body into his, closing the space between them, smoothly. He loves the way her body responds to him, pure instinct, curving and molding perfectly into his.

She's wearing one of her thin white tops again, arms exposed, hints of red peeking through from underneath. He smiles, remembering how the shape of her breasts looked in the corset, back in the Enchanted Forest, and how even now that he has seen all of her and touched her silky skin, it only takes the barest hint to drive him mad with want.

She is completely golden, in the candlelight, and he remembers exactly how she looked that night in the tavern. He remembers the jealousy (not of his own past self, not quite) that he felt and the flash of desire that one day she might respond to him so openly, for real.

Killian's hand strokes through her hair, down her arm, and back up to her hair where it remains, tangling softly. She loves the way he touches her, reverently, as if she is infinitely precious to him. But sometimes she also worries that he is so gentle because he's afraid that one day, if he presses too hard, she'll leave. She hates that she has somehow created this fear within him. She knows that she pushed so hard, before their adventure, and that she pushed for so long that he had almost given up hope. (She remembers his eyes boring into hers, asking _do you even care_? She wants to cry that he had to ask. She wants to shake her past self for making another person feel as lost as she once felt.)

She doesn't know the right words to say, the exact phrase that could erase this caution, so she does what she knows best. She takes action, letting him know exactly how much she can take with her body. She leans in to nuzzle his neck, until her lips reach his skin. He lets out a soft grunt of surprise as she grazes her lips against his skin, teeth slightly pressing, until she reaches the lobe of his ear and nips hard enough that he jolts with surprise and the fingers sliding through her hair tighten, grasping.

With the momentum gained, her head falls back, and the sharpness of it flows through her, making her burn. At her low groan, his head snaps to face hers, curiosity written across his features. She maintains eye contact while neither of them moves. Finally, he tests her response with another tug, this time even stronger, more deliberate. She groans again, as the movement causes her body to tingle with increased awareness. His eyes, remain on hers as he leans in for a quick kiss before he says, "You like that, eh?"

She answers him with a kiss of her own, lingering, tasting the cocoa on his lips, and she feels him smile. He releases her hair briefly and shifts his hand to the hook. He's about to detach it from his brace when she places her hand on his wrist.

"Keep it on."

Which is the exact moment that her cell phone rings, cutting through the tension. He arches a brow at her when she makes an exasperated noise and mutters, "Damn storm."

Her body quickly goes back into sheriff mode as she leans over to grab her phone, "It's Regina calling. I have to take this." Not five minutes later, the conversation is over and she tells him that she has to meet Regina over at the power plant.

She has her boots on and she's slipping her arms into her jacket when she feels the cool metal of his hook at her wrist, as he drags her back towards him. She tumbles onto the bed as he pulls her down and catches her lips with his, tongues tangling and teeth crashing for what feels like hours before he lets her go.

"We'll finish this conversation later, yeah?" He says, not really asking her.

"Oh yeah."


	2. Tell Me Something True

**Disclaimer: Own nothing, etc. **

_A/N: I couldn't just leave their conversation up in the air..._

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**Part 2: Tell Me Something True**

Emma stands outside the door to their room at Granny's, power now restored and limited damage to clean up from the storm. There are just a few downed tree branches and thankfully no structural damage to the municipal buildings. The sun is just starting to peek up along the horizon and through the clouds. While she is exhausted after a long night of dealing with Regina and the power company and all of the weird _real world_ things that happened, the thought that Killian is waiting for her in their room comforts her. Although, he's also told her that he finds sleep elusive on nights when she is not next to him.

(She's the savior and has magic and a sheriff's badge and arms with 'sick guns' as her son's New York friends used to say. She knows he worries, though. Or…if worry isn't the right word, she knows that he wants to be by her side in any capacity, even if she is barking out orders in a fight or following his lead in a waltz, though the second is unlikely to happen again. She knows that he hates it when she leaves him behind, even though in the case of last night there was nothing that he could have done to help.)

She leans her head against the door, hesitating to just turn the doorknob and go inside. She knows that _she _is the one who started the conversation, before, back when candlelight and cocoa, and the soft tingling of his lips pressed against hers dropped her inhibitions. In the heat of the moment, it was easy to _start_ the conversation. Now, though, in the (almost) cold light of day and no longer drugged with need she feels almost shy. She does not know how to start _talking. _

(She wants him to know that she accepts all parts of him. That she knows exactly who he is, and what has scarred and changed him. That even though he fights at her side now, she does not expect the experiences gained during his hundreds of years seeking vengeance to wash away with her bright and shiny new love. He is all of the pieces that come together to make up his soul, and she does not want him to hide them.)

He can hear her pacing in the hallway followed by the soft bump of what he assumes to be her head against the door. It was enough to wake him from an admittedly light slumber. His years at sea creating habits hard to break; first as a lieutenant whose structured time meant waking at dawn, and then as a pirate, sleeping only deeply enough to rest his eyes but light enough to be ready for battle at a moment's notice.

He wants to call to her, to tell her to come inside to their room, to reassure her that whatever it is she needs to say to him, he will listen. If somebody asked him to name only one thing that he knows about Emma Swan, it would be that she cannot be rushed.

(Oh, but he likes the thought. _Their room_. It gives him a thrill when he thinks about what it means for something to belong to _both_ of them. He tries not to imagine life too far into the future, but sometimes he cannot help but to think about the things that might come next. Barring, of course, more curses and battles and demons and witches with scores to settle.)

When she finally opens the door, slowly, as if to not wake him, he pulls himself to a sitting position on the bed and says, "Come on in, love, I'm already awake."

She makes a short huffing sound as she pushes the door fully open and walks inside, and he can feel his lips curling into a smirk and says, "Sorry to disappoint you."

He can see, even though the room is barely glowing with morning light, the firm set of her lips that usually accompanies her patented side-eye glare, pinning her gaze on him and replying, "I'm not disappointed, Killian. I'm just..."

She trails off and he can feel the tension of her hesitation sucking up the air in the room so he does what he knows best, and distracts her from the various directions in which her busy brain must be heading. He pats the space in the bed next to him, and says, "Come here, love, and tell me about your night."

She smiles as he watches her pull off her boots and peel away the layers of her clothes until she's only wearing that thin white top he loves so much and her delightful underthings. _Lingerie._ (He finds that he likes the word very much. He likes the way it rolls off his tongue as smoothly as the garments slide off her body.)

She sighs and walks over to the bed but instead of sliding in to align her body next to his, she straddles him, hip to hip, and immediately his body jolts from slumberous to _aware._ When his eyes meet hers, that knowing gleam from the night before returning, she nods and gives a small nudge of her hips. It's not too much pressure as to really create friction, but enough to that he lets out a small puff of air and a groan, as his hand flies to her hip.

His fingers dig into her skin, gripping tightly as she leans down to rub her lips along his, brushing back and forth lightly until he grabs her bottom lip with his teeth and tugs her closer until they reach the perfect angle lazy, open mouths, and tongues to tangle gently. She can feel his disappointment when she pulls away, but she knows that this is not something that to share without using actual words.

She reaches down to her hips, where his hook has joined his other hand, and she grabs the brace to bring it up to chest level, just as she did back in the Enchanted Forest at the tavern with _other _Hook, _old _Hook.

"What are you doing?" His voice is rough with sleep and desire, and maybe a tinge of frustration, as he punctuates his words with a small upward thrust of his hips.

"Don't you want to know what it is that I said to you; well, _other_ you back then?" She traces her hand along his hook in a similar, familiar pattern, watching his eyes as they follow her movements.

"Not particularly, darling," he bites out, and she experiences a twinge of pain in her heart, remembering that it hurt him to watch her with _him_.

She leans down, touches her forehead to his, and whispers, "It was because he was you, but also _not_ you at the same time."

She knows that probably makes no sense to him, but it is the best way to explain the _freedom_ she felt in that tavern. He does not say anything in response, just nuzzles his nose against hers as his hand wanders up from her hip to slide under her shirt his finger lightly tracing along the lacy ridges of her bra.

"He didn't treat me like I am _breakable_," she continues. He rewards her with a sharp twist of her nipple, through the fabric, a jolt of pleasure zinging down through her body.

"Like that?" He growls, and God, _yes_, that's exactly it, she thinks as she seeks balance by grabbing the headboard, her head thrown back as he brings his hook up and rips right through her shirt.

Later, when she's on her stomach and his hand is threaded tightly in her hair and he's brought her to the brink so many times to the point where she's pleading for release, she murmurs, "I'm not going to run away from you again, Killian."

She's sure that he heard her moments after they both let go, when she feels his smile against her neck.

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_I hope you enjoyed. Reviews are always lovely. :)_


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